Life of Pie
by Zana Zira
Summary: Tag to 5x08 "Changing Channels": Dean and Sam are getting really tired of being shuffled around between shows, and after almost freezing to death Dean's ready to throw in the towel. That is, until they end up on a commercial for all-you-can-eat pie. But even that may not go right since Dean has no sense of self-control...Sick!Dean, annoyed-but-caring!Sam. Written for a LJ prompt.


**Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.**

**A/N: This was written for a prompt fill on LiveJournal. The prompt was as follows:**

**"Remember the Changing Channels prompt from tg's meme? This time, they're in a commercial for Biggerson's All-You-Can-Eat Pie Bar. (Like a salad bar, but with pie!) And maybe Dean is so excited - they've been in TV land for awhile, okay? - and he eats so much pie that eventually he makes himself sick."**

* * *

"S-s-stup-id d-damn trickster a-and his st-stupid damn T-TV land…" Dean grumbled to himself as Sam wrapped a warm blanket around him, averting his eyes while Dean stripped completely out of his sopping wet clothes and huddled down into the warm fleece.

"I know, I know," Sam said gently, trying to rub some warmth into Dean's arms and back through the thick blanket as they huddled close together in one of the small cabins below the deck of a crab fishing boat.

Apparently the Trickster had thought it would be a laugh riot to throw them both into the middle of "Deadliest Catch." That wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't picked the worst part of a vicious sea storm. Within only seconds, Sam had watched in horror as Dean slid across the slippery, wet deck and over the railing, splashing into the frigid water below and only barely being saved by the fast-acting members of the crew. Now that Dean was out of the water, though, Sam was worried about him becoming hypothermic. He wasn't sure if dying of hypothermia on a TV show would actually kill Dean, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"I s-swear to G-God, S-Sammy, we ha-have to get o-out of-f here," Dean growled, pulling the blanket even tighter around himself than should have been physically possible and glaring around the room at the rusty metal walls that were all that separated them from the ocean below. "I've h-had it."

"Me too. But we've played our roles in this show too, so we should be switching any time n –"

"CUT!"

"GAH!" Dean yelped as he found someone suddenly yelling into his ear through a megaphone. "What the hell?!"

Idly, Sam noticed that within the blink of an eye, both of them had indeed been teleported somewhere new again. Dean was redressed in his normal clothes, completely warm and dry, and was now sitting at the table of a Biggerson's restaurant for some unknown reason. Although – uh oh… This looked a lot like the setup he'd had to deal with when they were shooting that Herpexia ad…

"I should be asking you that!" the man – a director, it looked like – shouted angrily at Dean. "This is a commercial for Biggerson's pie, boy. So why are you flapping your lips when you're supposed to be eating pie?"

Dean's face brightened immediately. "Pie?!"

The man rolled his eyes, obviously thinking Dean was a complete idiot for needing to be told this twice, but obliged him anyway. "Yeah. It's simple, kid. We're making an ad for the new all-you-can-eat pie bar at Biggerson's. All you need to do is eat the pies we bring you and look happy about it. Think you can do that?"

Dean beamed at the man, not even caring how patronizingly he was being spoken to right now. "Yes, sir!"

"Good. Roll camera! And you! Off the set!"

Sam allowed himself to be herded away from the table and watched in amusement from the background as the camera men shot bits of the entire restaurant, focusing on the two different bars, each set up like a long salad bar, that housed the hot pies on one side and the cold on the other. There were all kinds of toppings, as well as ice cream to put on them, and by the time Sam looked over at Dean again his older brother had already devoured three slices of different pies that the PAs were bringing him in a continuous line.

"Uh, Dean? You might wanna slow down," Sam warned when he watched Dean practically inhale the fourth piece of pie – apple, it looked like. "You haven't even had the camera on you that much yet. Save some room."

"Shuddup," Dean muttered around a large mouthful of flaky crust and apple filling. "Ish pie, Shammeh. Pie. I can handle pie."

"Whatever you say, man."

"Damn right whatever I shay."

Sam snorted and picked up a magazine the director had left behind, content to sit and read – and not get hit in any more sensitive places by giant levers for the moment – while Dean did all the work and enjoyed himself. If this was how TV Land was going to be from now on, he could get used to it.

Before he knew it, filming was over, and the commercial was being pieced together around Dean's apparently genius moans of pie-induced pleasure, which the director had loved as soon as Dean had started making them upon taking his first bite of Biggerson's Pecan Pie. Sam thought it was a little creepy that his brother was getting filmed and applauded for making sounds that really should have belonged in pie-inspired porn, but hey, who was he to judge? Apparently Dean had talent. Or something.

It wasn't until after the crew had packed up and left that Sam thought to wonder where Dean was, and then realized that he should have known even something this easy could go wrong for a Winchester. When Sam finally located Dean, he was curled up on his side on one of the enormous booth seats, arms wrapped loosely around his midsection. He looked up for a minute when he saw Sam approach, then sighed and flopped his head back onto the bench, curling up a little tighter as his stomach grumbled audibly.

"Mmmph," he groaned, belching and rubbing a hand over his slightly distended belly with an uncomfortable grimace. "Sammy, I don't feel so hot…"

Sam rolled his eyes with a long-suffering sigh, sitting down on the other side of the booth and not bothering with the "I told you so." It was a losing battle anyway. Dean might be older than him, but when it came to pie, he had all the self-restraint of a kid let loose in a candy store. Sam should have known it was only a matter of time before he ate himself sick, and he blamed himself for not keeping a closer eye on Dean.

"How many pieces of pie did you actually eat, anyway?" Sam wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, but he was morbidly curious anyway.

"Th - _*urp*_ – thirteen…"

Sam whistled, impressed and horrified all at once. "That's… a lot of pie."

Dean just belched again in response, groaning when his stomach growled at him in obvious displeasure.

"Just hang in there, man," Sam said when Dean shifted and winced in discomfort again. "I'm sure we'll end up in a Pepto-Bismol commercial sooner or later."

"God, I hope so."

"Me t –"

Sam never even got a chance to finish his two-word sentence before the channel changed yet again. This time, Sam was sitting in the middle of a large leather couch in a fancy-looking living room, surrounded by people he didn't recognize and another set of camera people. Dean, though, was nowhere to be seen, and that nearly sent him into a panic right then and there. Had something happened to him?!

"Where's Dean?" he asked, hoping someone in the room would know who he was talking about.

"It's okay, Sam," said a woman clad in a doctor's coat from the other side of the room. "Your dad called him a minute ago, just like we practiced. He'll be here soon."

"Wha – my dad? Practiced? What are –"

"Shh, Sam," said a balding blond man Sam assumed was supposed to be his "dad," considering he was sitting right beside him and knew his name. "Just let us talk to him, alright? You don't have to if you don't feel up to it."

Sam had no earthly idea what they were talking about, but he was spared having to puzzle it out when the door suddenly started opening, and a very confused, very nauseous-looking Dean stepped into the room, staring blankly at everyone gathered around the area except for Sam.

"What the hell's going on here?" he asked irritably.

"Dean, please sit down," the doctor said, gesturing for him to come in. "Your family all have something they'd like to say to you."

Dean rolled his eyes, giving Sam a quick look that clearly said "Seriously?"

"Uh-huh. Look, lady, I'm really not up to dealing with this crap right now, so if you could just tell me where my car is Sam and I are gonna split."

"Sam isn't coming with you, Dean," the blond man said, and Dean narrowed his eyes at him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Dean," the doctor said firmly, coming up next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist to guide him into the living room. Sam saw his brother's face turn a bit gray as she squeezed his midsection too hard, and he winced in sympathy. That couldn't feel good right now. "You can't keep running away from this. You need to talk to your family."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, just quit touching me please," Dean said quickly, groaning and swallowing hard as he shakily settled himself into a chair. His entire complexion was a pale grayish-green now, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead and the areas under his eyes. "Urgh, think I'm gonna be sick…" he said under his breath as he closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around his fractious belly again.

The woman seemed to think he was referring to the entire situation and continued on, not noticing the way Sam did that Dean's face was draining of even more color and he was starting to swallow convulsively. They really needed to get out of here before things got disgusting.

"Uh, Doc?" Sam asked quickly as he stood to try to get to Dean's side. "Can this wait just a minute? I think Dean's –"

"No, Sam, he needs to hear this. This is an intervention, Dean. We're all here because we care about you. You have had an addiction to pie for many years and now you need to–"

"BLEEEEAAARRRGH!"

Sam just sighed and shook his head as the mere mention of the word "pie" sent his brother over the edge, just as he had known it would. Ignoring the disgusted gasps of his fake family, he knelt beside Dean and kept a hand on his back, trying not to look while he spewed every color of the rainbow all over the rug and the disgusted doctor's shoes. Under normal circumstances, he would have felt for the poor woman. He really would. But he was sick to death of TV Land, and at this point all he could do was chuckle under his breath at her misfortune. Honestly, that's what they got for even considering trying to come between Dean and his pie.

When Dean had finally stopped heaving up barely-digested fruity slime, he coughed and moaned, panting as he spat to get the taste out of his mouth and looking up at Sam with watering, tired eyes.

"Sammy?" he asked quietly, still obviously not feeling well after his enormous sugar high as Sam helped him to his feet and guided him away from their "family" in the living room.

"Yeah?"

"We _really_ need to get the hell out of here."

Sam nodded, his eyes cold. "And we'll kill the Trickster too."


End file.
